Stalker
by edka88
Summary: She never noticed it before, the one who followed her... until one night realization could be delayed no longer.


To my dear friend B-V, for her unceasing support and encouragement. Thank you so much!

And thank you for all of those people who read, reviewed, subscribed or favorited my other stories. You brightened my days!

* * *

She forced her eyes open and tried to listen through the sound of wheezing air in her ears.

The squeaking sound didn't continue.

_Just a nightmare._

It seemed that her heartbeat filled the whole room and she took a deep breath. A few minutes and it would be over; it was nothing that had never happened before. Eyes stiffly set at the ceiling she waited for the surreal feel of the dream to pass. _Pleasant things._ Like the calm night outside in the garden, the soft scent of the flowers, the moonlight seeping through the windows…

That would so perfectly reveal any lurking shadows...

Christine opened her eyes again, forcing them to stay so this time and listened carefully, fearing the moment when that sound would be repeated.

Nothing.

Everything was silent, not a noise stirred the strained peace of the house; even the soft, rhythmic clatter of the clock from the hall could be heard in the bedroom. She let out a deep sigh.

_No one's here._

After another minute of the usual silence her nerves started to relax and she sunk back into the bedclothes. It was very hot under the cover. She ventured sticking out one arm above the coverlet, then tried to listen through the swish of the sheets.

Nothing extraordinary happened. _No sounds. It was just a nightmare._

She swallowed harshly before turning to risk a quick glance at the window, just to make sure no one was standing behind the curtains. Her own breathing echoed in her head, filling the whole room; for a while she stopped breathing entirely just to make sure its sound didn't cover _other sounds_.

There were no boots peeking out from under the edge of the curtains.

Instead the left one drifted a little to the side, as if the draft from another window moved it.

Christine almost choked on her forced breathing: she herself made sure before going to bed that no windows were left open. One of them had just slammed to the frame with a loud crash. Franticly she reached out to the other side of the bed. "Erik!"

"I heard it," came his low murmur and she felt his fingers' press on her wrist. "Get up."

_Someone really _is_ there._ It was a rather disturbing feeling. As a child she used to fear the darkness but mostly it was because of the well-known tales of the Phantom in the opera house – but now she was living with the Phantom. Back then she thought there was nothing scarier than _him_ but it was not true. A train robbery was scary, German thieves were scary but Erik was not, not to her, at least. Sometimes she felt he was the safest point in her life.

Hastily she pulled on a gown (he had already put on his trousers) and followed him with her eyes as he looked out to the hall through their room's opened door. So calm and composed… She didn't like to think how he gained his practice but it was long in the past. She had accepted it with the ring he had given her.

He came back from the door, one arm already reached out towards her. "Come."

"Hmm?"

"Better if you come with me. We've done this before."

Her head gave a faint nod and she felt with her toes on the floor; her fingers were already shaking from the… cold. It must have been the cold.

"No slippers," he ordered. "You are more silent without them."

Again, she nodded.

"It will be better this time. There is only one of them. We would have heard much more noise of there were more than just one."

She threw him a meaningful look.

"You're a graceful dancer," he assured her and kissed her briefly on the lips. _Safe. _He would never let her got hurt, he never did. Slowly the shock was wearing off of her and her mind was cleared from the thoughtless fog. Of course he would keep her safe and he could only do that if she went with him. She would have to be there anyway to know what was happening – not knowing would be a lot worse, especially if he got hurt in some way.

_But he wouldn't. I'll be there with him._

First she pinned her hair up into a quick bun then pulled her gown up and knotted it short below her hips and finally took his offered hand, following him close behind. They stepped out to the hall: there were no changes in the furniture, the door to the terrace was still intact and the plants didn't have any extra shadows in front of the windows. No one was there.

Something whanged on the floor downstairs.

It was like when the screen in front of the hearth tipped over – and right beside it was the stoker and a bunch of other stings that could be used as a weapon.

"You have no weapon," she whispered to her husband who meanwhile approached the top of the stairs.

"I won't need any weapon this time to kill anyone who dares to touch you."

It sounded serious – and knowing Erik he meant every word – but she didn't protest. The memory of a blade forced against her neck was quite a reason why not to.

"I go down and then catch you. He can't hear us coming," he said, then climbing out to the other side of the balustrade he leant down, then letting go of the balustrade he landed swiftly on the floor. At his sign she followed him and he caught her sooner than she could have time to worry about how to climb down. She took his hand as soon as he deposited her on the floor and they both disappeared under the staircase in the next moment.

The bathroom's door was only a step away and immediately he went to it, peeking in through the opened door. He came back, shaking his head. That room was empty.

"This starts to resemble the tales I've been told as a child," she said as he checked the study as well. Still nothing.

"I can't believe there's not a single trap here," he muttered angrily.

"It must be a ghost."

His two burning eyes flashed at her in the darkness. "There are no ghosts."

Taking her hand again he started for the dining room but stopped before entering there, back pressed to the wall. Silence. Except… Something gave a soft swish in front of them. Immediately she was pushed right behind him and he stepped in, then motioned her to crouch beside the bureau, then he did the same. Blood pounde in her ears; when she looked around, though, she realized that the swish came from the curtain, what was now pulled aside on the door to the garden and the night air was flapping it lightly.

_No one's here._

It wasn't such a reassuring thought anymore.

Breeze hit her face with a cool wave and the curtain continued its dance with the blowing wind. _Someone has to be here._

There was a pull on her hand as Erik had started for the kitchen; when they reached it her eyes roamed over the room along with his: cupboard, table, chairs, windows, stove, the narrow little space between the wall and the icebox… all empty.

And that someone could now easily turn on their back if he returned to the dining room through the parlor.

Once again she was pushed behind Erik while he took a step towards the door.

A soft tread on the carpet.

_It must have been Erik's._

His grip slipped from around her hand.

Another step forward.

No sounds.

_There are no ghosts._

There were no intruders, either.

Erik's arm darted out in the darkness in the next moment. "I told you there are no ghosts," he growled while _someone_ was slammed to the parlor's wall, arm twisted behind his back by Erik's hand. "How many are waiting outside?" He demanded.

A muffled moan was all the answer that came. Erik pulled his hand up and something cracked in the unknown man's bones.

"I came alone," he screamed and tried to stand a little straighter to loosen the hold on his trapped arm. It calmed Christine to see how useless attempt it was: Erik held him still with only one arm while the other swiftly searched for hidden weapons under the intruder's jacket, in the belt of his trousers and even in his boots. Nothing.

"I'm sure you did. What do you want?"

"Nothing important," the man whimpered. He must have been a young man, judging from his frail tune; in the exact same age as she herself was, perhaps.

"Why did you come here?" Her husband repeated, his grip on the young man didn't ceasing the slightest, who was now panting heavily from the torturous position he was forced into. For a moment she felt pity's wave reaching her heart but it was soon washed away by the memory of the horror: noises in their closed house. In the middle of the night.

"Because of Madame Daae," he blurted out finally and cried out aloud when his answer was immediately followed by a blow from her husband.

"She's married. I'm sure you heard of that."

"After the opera house burnt down, yes." The man gasped for some air. "They said that the Phantom died in the fire but then she married some unknown businessman. It's well known now that the Phantom and Madame Daae's mysterious husband is one and the same."

"He's not mysterious! We've attended several occasions together!" She protested. The man tried to turn to her direction but of course, it was a wasted attempt.

"On masked balls! And otherwise he could be barely seen. People notice such things."

"And did they not tell you what happened to those who spied on the Phantom?" Erik asked and the young man cried out in pain again. Probably it was for the better that she didn't see what caused it.

"There are no ghosts," he heaved. "I thought she was faking a marriage to keep her independence."

"So?"

"So I came to have a curl from her hair. Surely she wouldn't mind since she sings for me every night."

She hurried to speak before Erik could retaliate such an outrageous confession. "No, I don't."

"You do! Sometimes even smiling up at my box at the final curtain call!"

"I'm afraid you're quite mistaken, monsieur. Contrary to common belief I'm not a coquette!"

"You weren't singing for me?" The man's voice sounded like a child's. Maybe he even pouted but she couldn't tell that for sure.

"No, I'm married!"

"Not even once?"

"No, never."

"But will you?"

Suddenly the young man wasn't standing anymore but was deposited on his knees on the floor – presumably not on his own will. If anything, his groan was proof of that.

"You've gone too far, boy," her husband interrupted.

"Please don't hurt him," Christine pleaded with him immediately.

"I don't see any reason why not to," Erik answered, keeping a firm hold on the stranger's form who wasn't even trying to escape anymore.

"This man is insane. He doesn't even know what he's saying," she said.

For a long while, Erik's hold didn't loosen on the intruder, nor did his rigid posture change. She sought out his sight in the darkness that was solely focused on her face but after a long minute his gaze dropped to the floor.

"Thank her that I let you leave unharmed," Erik growled at last, letting go of the boy, who slumped on the floor and whimpered something that most likely was meant to be an answer. Christine watched with a growing sense of relief how her husband _escorted_ the boy out, making sure he couldn't turn and catch a glimpse of his bare face. Probably 'unharmed' was not the best word to describe the boy's current state but it didn't really matter. He was alive. After braking into their house in the middle of the night it was quite an achievement on his part.

It didn't take longer than two minutes until Erik came back; Christine was waiting for him by the front door.

"Is he gone?" She asked.

He closed the door securely before answering, "Yes."

"You haven't done anything to him, have you?"

"There was no need to. He literally ran away as soon as I threw him out."

Letting go of the door he went to the nearest window and she started towards the staircase, then stopped when he was still staring out to the night. There were no traitorous sounds and when she peeked out to the garden over his shoulder she saw no lurking shadows or swinging branches, either.

"Are you coming?" She asked his still unmoving form.

"Yes." Muscles tensed on his bare back first, then he turned and closed the dining room's door as well, then followed her wordlessly up to their bedroom.

"I have no idea why he ever thought I was interested in him. We've never met before!" She said; the heavy feeling of the intruder's presence was still hanging in the air.

Erik pulled back the cover on the bed. "You're a talented, young woman," he replied smoothly.

"I've never encouraged him."

"It doesn't matter," he continued in the same tone, pretending to be extremely busy with straightening the bedclothes.

She watched him for a long while in silence – never once did he look up at her. "You've been different," she told him at last. "This man doesn't even know me."

He turned to face her in a quick move. "Because following you for years does make a difference knowing that I knew you, doesn't it?"

"But you were my protector, I knew you were there with me." She fell silent for a moment, contemplating how to continue. "I just didn't know the rest," she finished.

"You mean the truth."

"You certainly didn't want to cut my hair!"

"No, I took all of you instead."

"Erik, I didn't marry you because I had no other choice! We've passed that point long before by then."

He took a deep breath and turned away. "I know."

She watched his stiff back for a very long moment, then taking a deep breath she started to walk towards him. It was always the reason, she knew it. What she also knew, though, was that he knew her reasons very well and how much she loved him – but it wasn't meant to be. She knew him too vell. _Her mysterious husband._ She would have gone mad quite a long time ago if he wasn't working in the way he did.

She stopped beside him but he didn't turn to her. "You've never taken me for granted. That's why."

Slowly his head moved to the side and he looked straight to her eyes. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. In no time his arms were around her frame, his face resting on her head and neither of them spoke for a long while.

"It was quite a handsome young man, though," he teased lightly when he drew back from her at last. Her body shook against his with her giggle.

"I didn't like his hair, you know," she answered with pretended nonchalance, drawing back enough to slip her fingers into his hair. His eyes closed briefly before he spoke again.

"He actually _has_ hair," he remarked dryly.

"I love yours more. It's longer." And she brushed her fingers through the length of his hair in emphasis.

"Don't hope for a ponytail," he said, catching one of her arms and breathing a brief kiss to the inside of her wrist.

"Now _that_ would be weird," she smiled, leaning up to finally sooth any remnants of guilt with a thoughtful kiss. Judging from his reply: it worked. It was like a silent agreement: she knew why he fell silent at times like this, and he knew that she knew, and that was all. There was no need to speak of it any longer.

"I'll be extremely busy in the next two weeks, I'm afraid," he told to her shoulder.

"Promise me you won't dig up the parlor for a lake," she teased, snuggling up further in his embrace.

"It would be rather inconvenient in winters," he mused, returning her hold on him.

Moonlight cast a long shadow of the two of them on the floor as it was still very early in the morning – or very late at night. She eyed the sheets longingly before settling on the bed.

"I don't feel like sleeping any longer," she said while smoothing the blanket around her.

"You don't have to worry about any intruders; I'll watch over you," he assured her, taking a seat next to her.

"It wouldn't be fair to let you keep guard alone."

"It doesn't have to be fair."

"No, seriously; I don't want to let you stay awake alone." Pulling the cover aside she sat up, then turned away for a short while and turned back with a deck of cards in her hand. "Let us play cards. We won't hear anything from the study if we go down."

"Last time you said you'd never play with me again."

"But this time I'll count the cards before each and every game. And you'll remove _all_ of your clothes."

Keeping one eye on him she began to shuffle the cards in her hand while he got rid of his scant clothing and sat back beside her.

"Christine."

Her head snapped up from her task only to be faced with a smirk on his face.

"A diamonds is peeking out of your gown."

Defeated, she reached up to remove the traitorous card from her décolletage.

"And you will stop staring as well," she smiled.


End file.
